


Get You Somebody

by TheReluctantShipper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Slam Poetry, Tea, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, kind of, mentions of recreational drug use, mostly just fluff though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 19:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12733296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantShipper/pseuds/TheReluctantShipper
Summary: "Get you somebody who loves thefuckout of you."





	Get You Somebody

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I don't own anything but the original characters. I don't claim ownership over the characters or storyline of the TV show Supernatural, no matter how grateful I am for them, which is hella.
> 
> \- Thanks to the Sister Husbands, who are my best friends in the whole world, and happen to be gracious enough to also beta most of my works for me. I don't know what I'd do without you girls, but I certainly wouldn't be doing this.
> 
> \- You can come see me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thereluctantshipper) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheReluctantSh1?s=09) if me sharing fan edits and bitching about writer's block floats your boat.
> 
> \- I come by any mistakes here honestly, but feel free to point them out so I can correct them.
> 
> \- Aimless fluff to try to motivate me to work on literally any of the stories I should be working on.

“Warm welcome for _Garth,_ everybody!”

A soft smattering of applause and a couple of gentle _woos!_ float through the air. Dean Winchester does neither, just sits at the tiny table his boyfriend led him to and waits for said significant other to return.

A skinny kid takes the stage. He’s wearing a light t-shirt and a dark hoodie. His eyes are red-rimmed, a dead giveaway of a pothead (not that Dean doesn’t dabble in being a pothead himself on occasion, so he doesn’t judge).

The guy clears his throat.

“Get you someone who loves the _fuck_ out of you.”

The vulgarity perks Dean’s interest. This… _Really_ isn’t his usual scene. It’s just that it’s not his turn to pick where they go on date night. His protestations that he even _gave in_ to the idea of having a “date night,” which is quite enough compromise, were met with a flat stare and a little frown. That fucking little frown. It kills Dean every time. So he conceded, and now he’s a slam poetry jam and feels about as uncomfortable as he thought he would.

“Not somebody who loves you  
with flowers or dates or candles,  
but somebody who loves you with  
answering the door at three a.m. because your childhood dog just died  
and you’re _distraught.”_

Well, then. If that’s the kind of love you’re supposed to be looking for, has Dean ever had it? When he thinks about it, he gets some depressing answers back.

Aaron loved him, he knows. Aaron loved him like teenagers love teenagers, wildly and without reservation. Dean knows because he felt the same way. Aaron just couldn’t be in love with someone who had to hide, and God help him, but Dean had to hide. John Winchester was not the kind of man who could abide a gay son, and Dean wasn’t quite ready to tell the old man to go fuck himself yet.

So Aaron left. Dean didn’t blame him then, and doesn’t blame him now, but he can’t help but wonder if what this skinny Garth kid is talking about, maybe that kind of love would have held out.

“Not somebody who wants to  
hold your hand all the time,  
but someone who wants to  
fuck you brainless, until you’re hoarse from screaming, every night,  
then cuddle the shit out of you  
until you both pass out, naked and sweaty.”

What about Lisa? God, Lisa fit so perfectly into his life. She got along with Sam, she made John happy, hell, she made _Dean_ happy. She liked cruising around in Baby, she liked going to games with him, she liked Bond movies.

Fuck. Why didn’t it work out with Lisa?

She just looked at him one day and said, “Dean, I think we’re pretending everything is okay.” At the time, he had no idea what she meant, but he was raised a gentleman, goddammit, and if a woman wants out, she can go without him raising a big fuss over it.

So he just watched, bewildered, as she walked out.

Maybe a love like what Garth is talking about would have fought for her?

“Not somebody who loves you  
with love songs.  
Get you somebody  
who makes you think your lungs would collapse without them there,  
who makes you think a comet would come crashing into the world  
and obliterate humankind  
before you stopped thinking about them.”

Benny, maybe? Hell, Dean loved _Benny_ like that. Freshly out of the closet, Dean followed Benny around like a lost goddamn puppy. Benny’s laughing eyes, Cajun accent, and his huge arms pulling Dean close, making him feel safe, _fuck._ Fuck, did Dean love Benny.

Dean might still be loving Benny now if Benny’s father hadn’t gotten sick. There was a tearful goodbye, a hard kiss, and then nothing. Now Benny’s down in Louisiana, married to a pretty girl named Andrea (and didn’t that just _sting_ when Dean heard about it?), running a restaurant and living the dream.

Dean still thinks Benny might have been that kind of love.

“Don’t worry about someone  
who looks right when they’re next to you or under you.  
Get you somebody who knows you viscerally,  
who knows what you want before you do.  
Get you somebody who  
demands you be exactly who they know you can be,  
and who doesn’t take your pissant excuses when you don’t wanna be.”

Dean grins.

Oh. Well, then, that’s Cas.

A warm, gravelly voice is in his ear. “I got you tea. Feel free to bitch about it, I think you’ve caved enough for me tonight.”

Dean turns to grin at his boyfriend, reaching his arm around his chair to pull him close. “Not fighting my toxic masculinity this evening, Mr. Novak?”

Cas’ blue eyes are sparkling with more than just mirth. There’s also a mix of gratitude, pride, and love that makes Dean’s chest tight. “You’re at a slam poetry session with your twink boyfriend drinking tea that you let _me_ go get for you. I think our fighting is done for right now.”

Dean met Cas at a froufy bookstore he took a really, really sullen Sam to when the kid was a senior in high school.

Dean’s got this thing for dark hair and blue eyes. Cas has a thing for, as he calls them, “bright souls.”

Dean postured, and Cas saw right fucking through him.

Dean’s never fallen so hard or so fast. Cas loved Dean the moment he laid eyes on him (so he claims).

Cas has never once taken Dean to a candlelit date, and Dean’s never gotten Cas flowers. But Cas did answer the door at four in the afternoon (which may as well be three in the morning, Cas is a photographer who keeps _random_ ass hours) when Dean’s dad died. Cas specifically told Dean, verbatim, that it was okay to mourn John Winchester, even if he did still have mountains of anger at the man. Cas held Dean while he cried, wiped his tears, and promised not to tell anyone before Dean could ask.

Cas _does_ like holding Dean’s hand, but Cas also _loves_ holding both of Dean’s wrists in one hand while he fucks Dean into the mattress like he’s getting _paid for it._ Afterward, he silences Dean’s “manly” grumbles (which have just felt more and more ridiculous as time goes on) and pulls Dean into his arms, nosing at the sweaty hair at the nape of Dean’s neck.

Dean cannot fathom a world in which he would go ten minutes without thinking about Cas. Cas stops thinking about him frequently, but only because Cas can really only focus on one thing at a time. These days it’s photos, bees, weed, or Dean. That doesn’t sound impressive or anything, but when a man like Cas turns the entirety of his considerable attention onto a person, it’s intimidating and intoxicating at the same time. It frequently makes Dean thinks his lungs might collapse.

So, yeah, he and Cas don’t always get along. Sometimes he gets so fucking mad at Cas he can barely see straight. Cas doesn’t like Baby, thinks she’s a gas guzzler and an environmentalist's nightmare (because of course Dean ended up with a goddamn eco homo) (although the snarky bastard doesn’t seem to have a problem with Baby’s backseat, now, does he?). He doesn’t understand football _or_ baseball, and makes allusions to hidden homoeroticism in sports (possibly not wrong, Dean needs to do further research). Cas can’t cook worth a damn, so Dean is the one who spends his time in the kitchen, cooking and baking.

All of that is true, and all of those things that Cas isn’t were all of Dean’s favorite things in his past relationships.

But Cas is _it_ , and Dean damn well knows it.

Cas _does_ cut through all the bullshit that has built up in Dean since childhood, right down to the heart of the matter. Cas is starting to make Dean think that maybe liking cuddling or tea or goddamn slam poetry (who knew?) isn’t going to make him less of a man. It won’t mean that he has to give up football or baseball or his job at Bobby’s salvage yard.

Cas sees deep down to the heart of Dean, and Cas will not stand for Dean to be anything less than Cas thinks he can be. More than that, _beyond_ that, Dean’s starting to think that Cas is right. He _can_ be that person.

Dean wraps an arm firmly around Cas and brings him close to press a hard kiss to his temple. “I love you.”

Cas’ eyes widen with surprise. His face suffuses with pleasure, and he smiles wide. “I love you, too.”

“Get you somebody who loves the _fuck_ out of you.”

* * *

“Oh, my God. Did you buy Garth’s book?”

“What?! No! And what are you doing in my sock drawer?!"

Cas just cackles.

Dean's just glad that Cas didn't dig deep enough to find the ring box.


End file.
